


No Promises

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s08e22 Clip Show, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>8.22 coda. a more cheery one. <i>"Dean’s a fucking idiot.</i></p><p>
  <i>He knows this because Castiel shows up at their door in the middle of the fucking night – coat ragged, breathing heavy, the remnants of what looks like a plastic bag and a fucking six-pack in one hand – and Dean doesn’t chew him out"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Promises

Dean’s a fucking idiot.

He knows this because Castiel shows up at their door in the middle of the fucking night – coat ragged, breathing heavy, the remnants of what looks like a plastic bag and a fucking six-pack in one hand – and Dean doesn’t chew him out. He stares – he stares some more. He waits, silently, until the cold outside starts to freeze his hand to the doorframe; and then he lets Castiel step forward, and nudge his way into his arms.

He holds him tight.

He hates himself.

“How long are you back for then, huh? An hour? A minute? What?” he mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder, pissy and muffled, and Castiel touches the small of his back, and he fucking  _shivers._

“Longer, I hope.” Castiel muses softly. He pulls out of Dean’s arms, and looks at him. “If you’ll have me.”

Dean untangles their arms. He puts his hands in his pockets; he looks at the ground. “I told you I needed you.” He says, quiet, and Castiel nods. His hair moves, picked up by the light wind.

“I know.”

“Cas, if I’m honest with you, I’ve never felt like a cheaper date.” He laughs to himself, self-deprecating, half-bitter. “And I’m a pretty fucking cheap date.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know you are.” Dean spits, a little more venom than he intends. He’s not wanting to fight. He’s so  _tired._ “’Fraid that’s not what I’m really looking for, though, man.”

“What  _are_ you looking for?”

Dean looks at him blankly. He lifts a hand, and threads his fingers into the hair at the base of his own neck. “No one’s ever asked me that before.” He pauses, dumbstruck. “I want-“ he shakes his head. He’s thought about this.

“I don’t wanna pray to you anymore and not get an answer.” He says, drawing shaky breath. “I don’t wanna wake up and find you gone. I don’t want to feel –“ he flexes the fingers of his free hand, abortively. “I don’t wanna feel like I’m the only one  _here,_ Cas. It fucking  _blows_.”

Castiel looks down at his shoes guiltily. He hunches his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can guarantee I’ll always answer your prayers.” He says, and Dean sighs, because he knew it was coming. “I can’t – I won’t always be able to stay.”

Dean shakes his head. He moves his hand to the doorframe, again; prepares to go inside, though he’ll leave the door open, probably. He can’t not.

Castiel reaches for his arm, and holds him still. “But I’ll always want to.” He says. His hand is cold. Dean laughs mirthlessly. “I’ll always  _want_ to be here, Dean, with you.” He sighs. He moves his fingers, curled as they are around Dean’s wrist. “I've long stopped thinking of heaven as home.” He sounds so ashamed. Dean shakes his head.

“I don’t know if I can do it, man. The fucking waiting, the fucking  _shit_  we bring on each other.” He shakes his head. He meets Castiel’s eyes. “It’s just been one fucking thing after another since the fucking apocalypse.” And it’s such a stupid sentence, and so fucking true, that he laughs. “Where the fuck do we even  _go_ from here?” he’s scared of the answer.

“Inside?” Castiel says hopefully – and Dean has to give him that. He laughs.

“Fuck you.” He mutters, voice edged with amusement. “Piece of shit.” But it’s affectionate; it’s exasperated. He lets Castiel tip his chin up, and look at his face. He flinches away, but only a little, when Castiel kisses the edge of his mouth. He sighs.

“No more lies, Cas.” He says, and closes his eyes as he says it. “No more hiding things.”

Castiel kisses him more firmly; Dean circles his hand around his elbow. “I swear, Dean. I’ll try.”

They stand, for a minute, in the cool, still night outside the headquarters, the door swinging wide open. Dean hugs him, hard. Laughs a little hysterically into his shoulder. “Yeah, well, me fucking too.” He kisses Castiel’s shoulder; the fabric of that fucking coat. He pulls back, and looks Castiel up and down.

“You look like shit.” He says, the corner of his mouth turned up. “C’mon.”

He turns; he goes inside. Castiel follows, closing the door behind him.

Dean’s a fucking idiot. He fucking grins like one.

But at least Cas is one too; at least Dean’s stupid waiting has a counterpart, a complementary opposite.

Dean waits; Castiel returns. 

He smirks; amused. Hating his own baseless optimism.

Maybe, one day, it’ll be the last time.

Honestly, he can’t fucking  _wait_.


End file.
